One of the boys

My sophomore year of high school was hell. Being an army brat, I was on my third school by the second semester. I had learned not to make friends, because that would only make moving away harder. My appearance made this decision an easy accomplishment. My hair had grown down below my shoulders, and I often hid my face behind it, and also behind heavy layers of black mascara and lipstick. The toll of moving and trying to find myself in a sea of cruel adolescents had caused a dramatic weight loss, and my clothes seemed to swallow me whole.

Even though the baggy look was popular among my hip-hop influenced peers, it made me even more of social outcast, because my previous wardrobe had been devised of punk and gothic garments. I looked more like a little girl playing in her father's closet than I exuded the bad-ass image that I hoped.

Even though I am Native-American and Italian, people referred to me as 9-11, because they assumed I was Arabic, and therefore solely responsible for the fall of the towers. I was the victim of constant verbal and physical abuse, which I usually shrugged off. Being the effeminate guy at a previous military school had taught me to develop a thick layer of skin, just as being multiracial in an all-white school had taught me before.

Usually, the physical abuse was limited to spit balls in my hair, or boogers being wiped on the back of my shirt. I only truly feared for my safety in gym class, because Alpha males, who constantly joked that I looked like a girl and threatened to rape me in the showers, surrounded me. I opted to not participate in gym, fearing breaking a sweat and having to take a shower. I spent the time watching other guys de-shirt and run up and down the court, their skin glistening, a bright blur of flesh toned rainbow streaks. I had began to see everything in streaks since I had discovered the joys of cocaine and marijuana, the two friends that were sure to be waiting for me no matter what unheard of town my dad decided to drag us to next.

One day I sat in gym class, deep in a daydream about Blake Webb, a six-foot tall black guy, who was sometimes nice to me, because we had math class together, and I would let him copy my paper. I looked down, noticing the biggest erection I had ever achieved, and busied myself trying to hide it with my oversized sweatshirt. I was so engulfed in the fantasy that I hadn't even heard the whistle blow, signaling shower time. I felt three sets of hands grab me. A backpack was pulled over my head, and I was dragged into the locker room, wondering why the coach, who was five feet away, did nothing to aid me.

"Strip, bitch!" I was demanded, and before I could comply or resist I was punched in the head. I fell to the floor wriggling in pain. I reached to remove the bag from my head, but was kicked in the temple and told to leave it there, so I did. I didn't know exactly how many guys were there, but from the impact of that first blow, I was sure that it wouldn't have mattered if it were two or twenty. I never was much of a fighter.

"Why are yawl doing this to me?" I asked, as I felt my clothes being ripped from my body. Two sets of hands grabbed my shoulders, and two more fastened around each of my legs. I was hoisted up on one of the musty benches, and warned to not move or reach for the bag again. I obeyed and trembled inside at the feel of someone sliding his penis up and down the slit of my ass.

"Look at all this ass he got under them clothes!" my humper exclaimed, "I told yawl this faggot ass bitch should be a girl. And then he got the nerve to paint his fingernails black."

"I just like being different," I tried to explain, but I was punched in the side and told to not speak again.

"We ought to fuck this bitch!" Someone at the back of the crowd suggested, and then harked a ball of mucus unto my bare skin.

"Fuck that! Enough of that faggot shit!" I heard a voice protest, and the guy who was humping me was pushed away. I heard footsteps surrounding me from all angels, and fought against my impulse to rip the bag away and see the faces of my many potential rapists or murders.

"I've never hurt anybody!" I spat out, disrupting my inner chant of the twenty-third psalm. I truly was scared for my life.

"We aint going to hurt you either!" someone laughed, "We just making sure you shower today. We don't know what you do in Ireland -

"Iran," someone else thought they had corrected.

"What the fuck ever! We take showers here, homeboy. You been in this class for fourteen days and that mean we owe you fourteen showers. I'm going to give you the first one."

I shuttered in discuss at the feel of his urine saturating my hair through the already stale smelling backpack. I cried out in pain as piss and leather belts pelted my skin. One by one and two by two, they all joined in, until so much urine was aimed at my face that I couldn't breathe. I prayed harder, hoping that my fifteen-year run as a recluse wasn't going to end by me being drowned in jock urine.

Even when the last of the pissers had filed away I felt more and more urine. I thought that one of the guys must have an elephant's bladder until I heard the familiar pump of a high-powered water gun. There was a steady stream of who knows how many days old piss covering my head, making the bag cling to my head, and even filling my mouth and nose.

"Chill man; that's enough!" somebody insisted as I vomited violently.

The stream ceased, but their laughter seemed infinite. The puke mixed with the urine, and caused the bag to cling to my face even more. I was certain by now that I would suffocate.

When it was long over and they all had piled into the shower I still lay there, my face covered by the puke-filled piss bag. I would have rather died at that moment than let them see me cry, even though I was sure they could hear me anyway. I didn't remove the bag, not even after I heard them file out of the locker room, spitting on me, or getting in one final kick or punch as they left.

"Get up, man," I heard a gentle voice say to me, and I lay there, ignoring it until the bag was pulled from my face. I opened my eyes, which sill stung from piss, and saw that is was Blake. Apparently, he had gym the period after I did.

"Just leave me alone!" I protested as he tried to help me up, but he ignored me and I was pulled to my feet, and then towards the shower. On instinct, I began to fight, but was seized by his strong arms so that I couldn't move.

"I'm trying to help you. You know I wouldn't hurt you; stop swinging at me!"

I crouched down under the shower stream, so hysterical that I vomited again. Blake began to lather my hair and face up with his body wash. I heard footsteps and felt a second pair of hands aiding in my bath. I opened my eyes to find that we had been joined by his best friend, Malcolm.

"Who did this shit to you?" Blake wanted to know. Unfortunately I had the same question.

"We have to teach this kid to defend himself," Malcolm observed, helping me to my feet.

I looked down and Blake and Malcolm were both fully erect. I instantly sprung to attention myself. Blake's penis was even larger than I had dreamed, a coal-black ten inches bouncing between his muscular thighs. Malcolm was only an inch or so behind him, but his penis was thicker, and it was so hard that it jumped up and down even when he was completely still. His yellowish-brown skin was stretched so far that it was turning a bright pink.

"I told you, Blake," Malcolm smiled, and their method of washing me grew more sensual. His hands began to creep over my private places. I thought I would pass out from the excitement, but I was too nervous that we would get caught to enjoy it.

"You are coming with us for lunch break!" Blake insisted. The water was turned off and we all exited, toweling off with the same damp towel.

My clothes were ripped beyond repair, so I was given a dirty pair of Malcolm's shorts, which were too short, yet fell off my waist and had to be held up with my shoestrings. Blake let me use a t-shirt, which fit me like a dress, so the shorts became obsolete.

"Where are we going?" I asked as we piled into Malcolm's pick-up truck.

"You have two now," Blake promised as we backed into the driveway of an enormous house.

"This is my uncle's spot," Malcolm ensured me, "It's cool. I'm watching it for him while he's on vacation. That means we got the place all to ourselves."

"Why didn't you fight back?" Blake questioned once we were inside the huge house.

"Because I like living."

"Hit me!" Malcolm demanded stepping in front of me, "Go on; pretend I'm one of the guys from the gym and I'm grabbing on your ass, and trying to pull you into the shower. What are you going to do?"

Blake sat back on the couch, opening a hot can of soda as he awaited the show.

"I'm not hitting you!"

"Cause you a pussy, 9-11!" he literally spat at me and shoved me so hard that I toddled back, almost tripping over the glass table, "I'd piss on you too if it wasn't a waste of good water!"

"Why you doing this?" I cried, "What was all this shit about you guys wanting to protect me? You bring me here just to beat me some more?"

"Nobody can do shit to you that you don't let them do, 9-11!" Malcolm laughed, and slapped me playfully, "So, what you going to do? You going to be my bitch, or you going to fight me?"

"Fuck you!" I screamed heading for the door, but Blake leapt before me like an angry cougar, blocking my way.

"This is why they keep fucking with you at school! You cant run away from everything all the time; and no matter how you ignore some things, they don't go away. He wasn't really going to hurt you, but he just wanted to make you fight back."

"I can't!" I screamed, releasing the furry I had bottled all day, "I shouldn't have to!"

"We shouldn't have had to wash somebody else's piss off of your face either, but we don't live in a perfect world," Malcolm added, cradling me in his arms as I slumped to the floor with tears, "Don't cry! Stop that right now, or I will really fuck you up!"

"I can't," I sobbed, trying so hard to stop that I caught hiccups.

"Look man, we can't let you go out like this. You want to stay here with us the rest of the day?"

I nodded, and they helped me over to the couch. Malcolm dug around in the side of the sofa cushion and pulled out a half-smoked marijuana blunt. My hands were still shaking as I accepted it from him. Blake lit it, and as I smoked their hands began to roam my body, catching feels of my most intimate parts.

"Come on, guys!" I protested, choking on the smoke, "You talk about the guys at school feeling my ass, and look at you."

"The difference is that you like it when we do it," Malcolm whispered, caressing my ear with his lips, and grabbing my crotch.

I didn't have an argument, especially after him finding that I was as erect as they were.

Blake stood and began to remove his clothes. He looked over his shoulder, sneering seductively as Malcolm and I watched his striptease. He then turned to us, his manhood swinging in its full glory, and demanded that we disrobe too. Malcolm had already begun to pull my shirt off, so all that was left for me to do was undo the shoestring that served as a belt. I stood, and the shorts fell to the floor.

"Goddamn!" Malcolm snickered, taking my manhood in his hands, "You working with all this and you letting them fools make you their bitch!"

"Is that what you guys want me to be, your bitch? Is that what this is all about?"

"9-11 -

"T'bayo is my name!" I screamed with all the rage I had swallowed since the first time I had heard that awful nickname.

"T'bayo," Malcolm tried again, "All we are trying to do is offer you friendship and protection. We aren't going to use you. In fact, if you want to, put your clothes back on."

I stood, indecisive, looking from him to Blake, searching their faces for the truth. What in the way of friendship did I have to offer two guys like Blake and Malcolm, other than letting them fuck me and copy my homework?

"I don't want to," I swallowed, "I just want you guys to be upfront with me. You don't have to pretend to like me to fuck me; okay?"

"T'bayo, nobody is pretending," Blake promised, "I swear to god that if I had been in the gym when they was doing all that shit to you, it wouldn't have went down that way. They didn't -

"Rape me?" I finished, "No, they just pissed on me and hit me with leather straps."

"Sounds like a German porn," Malcolm laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm so sorry," Blake whispered, cradling me in his huge arms. I could almost swear I saw a tear forming in his eye before he buried my face against his barrel chest.

I could have stayed there forever, if the feel of Malcolm's tongue, tracing my collarbone, hadn't caused me to turn around. He then knelt before me again, and taking my hard penis into his mouth. Blake followed his lead. Kneeling behind me, he spread my cheeks and his tongue began to trace my rim.

"Oh my god!" I cried out with pleasure.

Malcolm stood and ordered me to take his bright red cock into my mouth. I did, and tried not to topple over as Blake commenced to fuck me deeper and deeper with his tongue. I wondered exactly how long and thick his tongue was, because it was stretching my rim so wide that it felt like a penis was digging around in me already.

"MMMMM!" he laughed standing and began to rub his scorching hot cock against my ass. He then began to smack my cheeks with it, leaving circles of pre-ejaculates all over my skin.

"I'm going to cum!" Malcolm moaned, and yanked his dick out of my mouth. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my face towards his dick as he jerked out the biggest load of cum I had ever seen in my life.

"Goddamn, man! Already?" Blake laughed, "Looks like its just more booty for me then."

"Get a condom!" I demanded, but when I looked over my shoulder I saw that Blake had already beat me to the punch. His perfectly straight, white teeth were ripping through the rapper of a Magnum.

"You got any Vaseline or anything?" he asked Malcolm, "This boy is either a virgin or he hasn't been fucked in years." He observed, probing my wet hole with his stubby middle finger.

"Only one time, last year," I confirmed, "So please, don't hurt me; promise?"

"You know I'm not!" he huffed, pulling the rubber on his throbbing dick as he leaned forward to kiss me, and took a tube of lube from Malcolm at the same time.

I could taste the combination of marijuana and my ass on his breath as his tongue played in my mouth. His fingers roamed the crack of my ass, searching blindly for the hole. When he found it two fingers dug deep, making me wail out in pain.

"Sorry," he promised, "Look, kid, if you don't want to do this, it's fine. We will still be your boy's and we will still protect you. You know that, right?"

"Just don't hurt me," I insisted, kissing him again.

He led me over to the couch, opposite of the one that Malcolm occupied, and laid me back. My body sunk in the plush pillows, and it felt like I was being drowned in velvet. He hoisted my legs up on his shoulders and began to kiss me deeply, passionately, as if he really did have feelings for me.

"Stop!" I pleaded pushing him away, "Don't make me fall in love with you either. Just fuck me."

"Oh, it's like that?" he huffed, and pushed into my hole with nerve-jolting force.

I cried out in pain, and he apologized again, and waited for me to tell him it was okay to proceed. When he did, his thrusts were deep and painful, but not as malicious as his entry.

I knew that I had hurt him by telling him not to make me love him even more so than he had hurt me with his entry.

"Yeah!" Malcolm cheered from the other couch, "Get that ass! Show him how we do the damn thing!"

Blake wasn't interested in showing off for Malcolm though. His eyes were locked with mine, and it was clear to me that he was still making love to me. I went along with it because he was making me feel so good, and kissing me so gently that, at that moment, I didn't care if he told me that it was all some cruel joke when it was over. Right then and there, he was showing me more love than I had ever experienced, and whether it was real or not, I didn't want it to end.

Malcolm walked over to the couch and stood before me with his dick gangling in my face, and I took it into my mouth again. To make my job of sucking easier he climbed on the couch. His ass was in Malcolm's face as he fed dick down my throat, and I could hear the sound of Blake sucking on Malcolm's rim as he fucked me slow and deep.

"Oh fuck yes!" Malcolm moaned, "Eat this yellow ass, baby. Damn!"

"I'm going to do more than just that!" Blake laughed, easing his way from deep in my cavity.

He spat on his forefingers and massaged it into Malcolm's rim, then he began to enter him, much gentler and slower than he had done me just minutes before. If I hadn't been so busy orally pleasuring Malcolm I might have gotten jealous.

"Be a man about it, dawg! You was just telling me to show T'bayo how we get down."

"Damn, baby - Shit!" he screamed as Blake crammed the rest of his monster into his tight hole.

I wriggled from under Malcolm to get a better view of the beautiful ordeal. Blake blew me a kiss as I watched him fuck Malcolm so viciously that Malcolm's eyes teared. Malcolm bit the sofa pillows, and when Blake would stab in too deep he would punch a sofa pillow and curse.

"You like this?" Blake asked, showing off for me, "You want me to fuck you like this next, baby?"

"Hell no!" I laughed, "I was just fine with what you were doing to me at first."

"You always going to be my nigga, fool!" Blake laughed and slowed down to caress Malcolm's neck and shoulders with his tongue.

It seemed that Malcolm was enjoying that more, and seeing him enjoy it was turning me on more than seeing him in excruciating pain. I especially enjoyed the view of him jacking off his thick eight inches as Blake dug him out.

"I love you," Blake whispered to him, "Do you believe me?"

"I love you too, nigga!" Malcolm moaned, then his face contorted and his orgasm came bubbling out prematurely again, covering his fist and the sofa pillow beneath him.

This time, his cum rushed out with so much force that he trembled and tears began to roll down his face. He turned a bright red and leaned back so he could rest his head on Blake's chest. He began to ride the monstrous ten inches like a mad man. The adrenaline from his orgasm must have made him forget that he was saying he couldn't take it all just minutes earlier.

"Shit, baby! I'm 'bout to nut too!" Blake moaned and forced Malcolm back down on his stomach.

He began to fuck him faster and faster, until Malcolm began to cry harder, and tried to crawl away. His attempt at escape was to no avail, as Blake outweighed him by, at least, twenty pounds of muscle, and pressed his torso against Malcolm preventing him from any movement.

"Don't move, baby!" he demanded, "I told you I'm about to cum; just take it a little bit longer."

He ripped the rubber off, and made a grimace of disgust at the sight of Malcolm's shit and blood. Malcolm still bit the pillow and cried as Blake milked forth a flood of white fluids all over his back and ass. It was so much cum that I was glad he hadn't shot off on his face, or poor Malcolm would have drowned.

"You next," Blake laughed looking at me, "You ready?"

"Please, no!" I begged after seeing the pitiful sight of Malcolm, still slumped over crying, "I don't think I can handle any more today, man. Please don't be mad."

My cock was already swollen well beyond its normal size just from watching them fuck. When he took my shaft into his hands and began to stroke it up and down, teasing the swollen tip with his tongue, I couldn't help but blow a hot wad ass over his face.

"I guess we all need to shower again, huh?" he laughed, massaging my come into his skin.

Lord, please let me have made two new friends, I silently prayed. I would even settle for only being their bitch, but I couldn't stand being lonely anymore.